


Not the Only One

by ShortInsomniac98



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 6000 Years of Pining, 6000 Years of Slow Burn, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crowley (Good Omens) Has PTSD, Crowley prays to God, Depressed Crowley (Good Omens), God Ships It, God speaks to Crowley, Hurt Crowley, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Slow Burn, The Ineffable Plan (Good Omens), some mentions of sex, sorry - Freeform, these tags are a mess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-05-07 10:45:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19207774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShortInsomniac98/pseuds/ShortInsomniac98
Summary: Beginning just after Crowley's Fall from Heaven and ending with his and Aziraphale's move to the South Downs, this story follows their relationship from God's perspective as She makes deals with the devil and plays a long, arduous Ineffable Game to ensure they're always in the right place at the right time, and sometimes meets with Crowley along the way to help him understand his path.





	1. Between Heaven and Hell

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based both on the notion that "God ships it," as I discussed briefly in a Tumblr post, in which She goes searching for Crowley after learning he fell with the others thanks to Gabriel, who was annoyed by Crowley's constant questioning, as well as on an anonymous request for a story in which God meets with Crowley during a rather dark moment to tell him it'll be okay (something which I plan to include at least twice in this story).

In the space between Heaven and Hell, thunder rolled and lightning flashed.  Rain poured down, accumulating in great puddles, rolling down hills.  Rain had not been invented yet, at least on Earth.  Hell was a different matter entirely.  The gates to Hell flung open at the voiceless command of the woman who was now walking through them.  With a wave of Her hand, they slammed shut behind Her.  The front door to a large building opened, crashing into the wall behind it with a loud _bang!_

“ _Lucifer!_ ” She cried, voice unwavering.  “ _Satan!_ ”

Books flew off their shelves, the pages raining down over the front room She was walking through.  Behind a desk in the right corner sat a distraught young demon, cowering against the wall.

“ _Usurper!_ ” She shouted, flinging open another door and rushing through with an unexplainable determination.  “ _Fiend!  Traitor!_ ”  With each epithet She gave, a window broke or a chair overturned.  “ _Destroyer!_ ”  A bench slid across the floor, out of Her path, and She finally threw another door open.  “ _Bastard!_ ”

“Mother dearest,” a smooth voice said from within the dark room.

Golden eyes glowed from one corner.

With a snap of Her fingers, lights which were not previously there turned on, illuminating the figure of a man, or rather, what looked to be a man.  He was pale and thin and had a look about him that he wasn’t exactly sure just what a man or a devil should look like, and something angelic still hung around his eyes.  He sat in a high-backed chair, legs crossed, a sly grin plastered across his face.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” he asked in mock innocence.

“I would like back what you have taken from me,” She said, eyes wide in fury.

“Oh, you do have to be more specific,” he said, licking his lips as he stood, crossing the room to pick up a book which had been thrown across the room and onto the floor upon Her entrance.  “According to our catalogue, what we do have would be…”

“You know of what I speak,” She spat.  “I would like to see the angel you took from my house.”

“Oh, Mother,” he said with a laugh.  “We’ve no angels here.”

“The-the young angel,” She said, shaking Her head.  “The red-haired angel who—”  She was becoming frantic now, the fear of the worst starting to dawn on Her.  “No.”  The door behind Her slammed shut and the light above them went half-out.  “What have you done?” She screamed, regaining Her strength.  “Where have you taken him?”

“I didn’t take him,” he said.

“Where is he?” She asked, taking a step closer.  “Tell me, or I swear I will take this all away.  You will have nothing.  This kingdom will be mine, too, and you will be left in squalor to squirm in the ditch with only worms for company.  Not even the most compassionate human or angel will offer you aid.  You. Will. Be. _Nothing_.”

“Why is he so important to you?” he asked, unmoved, and made his way back over to his chair in the corner to flip through his catalogue of war spoils.

“He was a part of the plan,” She said.

He looked up.  “Was I not also a part of the plan?”

“You were, but you fell astray,” She said.  “You led to a-a change in the plan.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, crossing his legs and returning his attention to his book.  “Crawly,” he finally said, a slow, deep drawl of a voice.  And he smiled.  “He is called Crawly now.  I hope you don’t mind that.  I can have them take you to him if you like.”

“Please,” She whispered.

“What was that?” he said with a smirk.  “Can you say that again?”

“Please take me to him,” She said, an order this time, not a plea.

He snapped his fingers and the door behind Her opened again, and two demons entered.  They were dirty, covered in unimaginable filth, and atop their heads sat a toad and a chameleon.  She looked at them, masking Her surprise with what She hoped was a vacant expression.

“Mother, meet Hastur and Ligur,” said Satan.  “Dukes.  Aren’t they lovely?”

She glanced over Her shoulder at the man She would have once called Her son, Her favorite.  Slowly, She nodded, though not necessarily in response to his question.  She was still trying to process just what he had made of his kingdom.

“Take Her to the prisoner,” he said, and wordlessly, the two demons took each of Her arms to lead Her out of the office.

She snatched Her arms away.  They looked back to their master, who gave a nod.

“She’s fine,” he said.

They turned back and She walked between them out of the room, down a downward sloping, tight sided corridor, and even further down a winding staircase.  She had no idea how far down this went.  It had obviously been remodeled since Her last visit.  Finally, they came to a long, grimy cellblock.  But just where the grime came from, She couldn’t tell since each cell was empty, and still relatively newly built.  Behind each barred door was an empty room.  Bare walls, bare floors, no windows, but all covered in dirt and filth and refuse.

They stopped outside the final cell on the left hand side, and the fair-haired, frog-bearing demon pulled a blade from his belt and hit the bars with it.  The sound echoed through the cellblock, and within that tiny, desolate cell, there was a soft whimper, barely audible.

“You’ve a visitor, snake,” said the other demon.

He pulled out a ring of tarnished keys, and again, She found Herself wondering just how that had happened.  He opened the door and let Her in, but as he started to close it again, She turned and gave him a challenging look, making him step back.

“Ma’am, the prisoner—”

“I’ve got this,” She said firmly.  “Leave us.  I won’t ask again.”

“Yes, ma’am.  Be back in ten,” he said, taking another step back before vanishing along with the other demon.

“Ten what?” She muttered.  Time did not exist yet.  Perhaps She should invent it now, decide for Herself just how long “ten” was.

At the back of the cell, she saw a thin, gaunt figure huddled in a fetal position a corner, his white robes dirtied and torn.  He was shaking and his face was hidden by a curtain of limp red hair.

“Hey,” She whispered, nearing him.

He cowered away, and She stopped dead in Her tracks and knelt down to his level.  Extending a hand, she touched his shoulder, and he let out a soft sob.

“Oh, my love,” she said softly.  “What have they done?  Hm?”

“Don’t want to say,” he whispered shakily.  “I’m sorry.  _I’m so sorry_.”

“No,” she said, coming closer.  “No.”

She wrapped Her arms around his shoulders and rubbed his upper back, humming softly.  Comfort was new, too, she thought, bitterly amused.  Aside from Eve, this was the first comfort She had offered to anyone.  The first comfort She had _had_ to offer to anyone.

He shook and cried.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean it.  I didn’t mean…”

“Shh,” She hushed.  “No, don’t apologize, love.  Look at me.”

“No,” he said, squeezing his eyes tighter shut and turning away.  “I can’t.  You’ll be angry.”

“I won’t,” She said.  “I promise you.  I won’t be angry.  Just look at me, hm?  I just want to talk to you, but I need you to look at me.”

Slowly, he raised his head, and he opened his eyes.  A yellow light glowed out at Her, broken by dark, slitted pupils.  Her jaw fell slack.

“Oh,” She breathed.  “What have they done to you, my love?  What have they done?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated, closing them again, his body racked with sobs.

She held him tighter, resting Her head on his, burying Her face in his hair.  He smelled strongly of sulfur.  “How did this happen?  Hm?  You’re okay.  It’s okay.”  _It was not okay._   “Tell me what happened.”

“Gabriel told me,” he said, his voice muffled against her chest, “he said…he said I shouldn’t ask questions.  He said…”  He cleared his throat.  “He said I was wrong for doing so.  He said it was a sign of doubt.  Doubt cannot exist in Heaven.  He told me that.  He told me I should fall with the others, even though I didn’t even…”

“Oh, Gabriel,” She said, closing her eyes to hold back Her own tears.  “Gabriel.  _God_.”

She chuckled bitterly.  It only seemed right that She should be the first one to use Her name in vain, and this situation certainly merited it.  She rubbed his arm gently.

“You weren’t meant to fall, my love,” She told him.  “You were meant for so much more.  You were created to love,” She said, looking at him, Her hands on either side of his face.  “You were created to bring so much more.  Your questions are not an evil.  Your doubt is not an evil.  It’s good to question things.  It’s good to doubt.  Don’t forget that.”

He looked at Her again with tearstained cheeks, and he swallowed hard.  “I…I don’t know…”

“I may have created this world,” She said, “and I may have created the rules.  But that doesn’t mean I am always right.  I am not faultless.  My children are not faultless.  You were created to remind us of that, my love.”

“Why me?” he asked.  “Why was I chosen for that?  For _this_?”

She shook her head.  “I can’t say.  But I can tell you this.”

There was a clanging on the bars behind Her, and She turned quickly to see the two Dukes of Hell standing in the doorway.

“That was ten?” She scoffed.

“Yeah,” the toady demon laughed.  “ _Ten_.”

“Time for you to go, ma’am,” said the other.

She was dragged out of the cell by an unseen force which took Her more than by surprise.  The barred door slammed shut, and as they guided Her out, She shouted to the fallen angel in the cell, “You’re not the only one!  You’re not the only one created for this reason!”


	2. A Deal with the Devil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just what the chapter title says: God makes Her first deal with the devil, one which will ensure that Crowley and Aziraphale will meet.

Rather more than seven days later, She reappeared at Hell’s gates again, this time with the key.  She had kept it after giving Hell to Satan, as part of their deal.  She would have free access to his realm any time She needed it.  And now, she definitely needed it.

“I’m here to see my son,” She said quite agreeably to the anxious, wide-eyed receptionist.

“Er, right away, ma’am,” the young demon said, ringing a buzzer.

“Yes?” his voice said over the speaker.

“Er, the Almighty is here to see you, sir.”

“Send Her back,” he said, as though he had been expecting Her.

“Right away, sir.”

To the left of the desk, a door opened, and She was allowed entrance.

“Thank you,” She smiled, and the demon nodded, so low it was almost a bow.

She did not crash into the office this time, throwing things mercilessly in Her wake.  No, this time She walked in peacefully, and smiled politely as She sat down across from him.

“Good morning,” She said.

He sat up taller.  “What do you need?”

“Why would I need something to come visit you?”

“Why else would you submit yourself to this?” he asked, gesturing vaguely.

“Okay, fine,” She said.  “You caught me.  I would like to ask a…a _favor_.”

“I’ve got a busy day today, Mother,” he said.  “You know what day it is.”

“Yes, about that.  I would like you to stay home today,” She said, putting on her best negotiator’s tone.

“No temptation?” he asked, intrigued.

“Well,” She sighed.  “I was thinking we would keep that bit.  But, you know, you’re too important, yes?”

“What are you getting at, Mother?” he asked Her impatiently.

“I was just thinking, well…I was thinking you could send Crawly instead,” She said slowly, evenly.

“Crawly?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yes,” She nodded.  “Crawly, you remember.  The one your brother sent down here without my permission.  The one you burned and nearly _drowned_ in sulfur.  The one whose eyes you _mutilated_.”

“Ah, yes,” he sighed.  “Crawly.  The one you nearly destroyed my home and my office over.  I still can’t see why he’s so important to you.  He’s annoying.  He won’t shut up.  He’s a half-assed demon.  Heard he was an even worse angel.  What’s he to you?”

“Part of the plan,” She said smoothly, “my love.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, clearing his throat.  He picked up the phone on his desk.  Those hadn’t been invented yet.  She was impressed.  “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thank you,” She said, watching as he dialed—that’s what it would be called someday, She thought absentmindedly—a number and waited for an answer.

She listened in.

_“Hastur, Duke of Hell here.  How may I help you?”_

“Hastur,” he said brightly.

_“My Lord!”_

“Get me Crawly.”  He looked across the desk at his mother, who smiled pleasantly.

_“Crawly, Lord?  What’s he done this time?”_

“Oh, nothing,” he sighed.  “It’s what he’s going to do.”

“Thank you,” She mouthed at him.

_“Right away, Lord.”_

“Hmm.”

_“Yes, er…Lord?”_ another voice asked.

“Crawly,” said Satan.  “I’ve got a mission for you, friend.”

_“A…a mission?  What kind of a mission…erm, my Lord?”_

“A temptation, Crawly,” he said.  “The first one.  This is big.”

_“Oh, er…you don’t want Ligur or somebody to do that?  Er, Lord.”_

She had to stifle a laugh.  She had hoped he’d have kept at least a semblance of goodness, but this was great, better than what She had hoped for.  He could barely remember to submit to these unholy pricks.

“Crawly, this could be your big chance,” he said, cutting a glare at his mother across the table.  She cleared her throat, taking on a sobered expression, and nodded.  “You could really prove yourself with this one.  I think you should take it.”

_“Oh, er, sure then.  Right, my, erm, Lord.  I can…yeah.  When, exactly?”_

He looked down at his watch.  “Hmm…can you be in my office in ten minutes for your instructions?”

_“Sure thing.  Just, er, yeah.”_

“Thank you, Crawly.”

_“Right.”_   There was a brief pause, then a little quieter came, _“Hastur, how do you turn this off?”_

The line disconnected, and he placed the phone back on the receiver, smiling across the desk at Her.

“And he won’t find out I was the one who orchestrated it,” She said, an instruction, not a question.

He chuckled.  “Of course, Mother dearest.  But,” he said, shifting in his seat, “what will you give me in return?”

Her face fell, and She nodded.  “Oh.  Right.”  Reaching out Her hand, She produced a tightly-wound scroll from the air, tied with a black ribbon.  “Here you are.”

He took it from Her and held it at a distance, the same way one might hold a worm or a frog.  “Er,” he said, “what is it?”

“Well,” She said with a sigh, “after the Fall of Man, things will be different.  I…oh, I’ve already given you so much, you know, but…”

“You’ll give me humanity, too?” he asked, eyes aglint.

“A portion,” She said.  “Just…you know, some of them.”

“Hmm,” he intoned, untying the ribbon, not even trying to hide his smile.

“You know I don’t want to do this,” She said regretfully.

“No, of course not.”  Holding the end of the scroll, he let it unroll, and his eyes scanned the names excitedly.  Men and women not yet created, and already predestined to die and wind up in his hands.  “My…Mother, this is quite a gift.”

“It’s too much,” She whispered, too late.  “It’s too many.”

“No,” he said.  “I don’t mind that at all.  I think it’s a good number, a marvelous number.”

“I…yes,” She said, nodding.  “But if I hear that my orders were not followed, I will take them back.  You will have none of them.”

“Thank you, Mother,” was all he said, not even looking up, and with a snap of his fingers, the door opened.

There were no Dukes of Hell waiting to take Her away, no secretary there to escort Her out, not even an unseen hand dragging Her from the room this time.  She looked at that open door for a moment, waiting for one of these things, waiting for _something_.  Realizing they weren’t coming, She stood and walked Herself out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, phones were created by the devil. Ask anyone who has to answer them for a living.


	3. Within the Garden Gates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first temptation, the Fall of Man, and the first meeting between our two star-crossed lovers. All while God watches at a distance.

In Heaven, there are rooms filled wall to wall with security monitors.  Currently, only one of these rooms is functional, but after the Fall of Man, more will begin to work, with more and more screens lighting up every week, every day, every hour, and soon enough, every minute, until finally, they are all lit up.  It will be a glorious thing to behold, and there will be need for many more to do the beholding.

But on the day this chapter of our story takes place, on what was rather more than the seventh day, God sat quite alone, in silence, watching and waiting at a single panel of five screens.  Four of these were honed in on the areas surrounding each of the gates of Eden: North, South, East, and West.  The fifth was focused on the tree at the center of the Garden.  That was the one She was now watching.  That was the one Crawly would take Eve to.

She saw him enter near the Eastern Gate, a Serpent crawling up from the dirt, and She rolled her eyes.

“I didn’t mean that quite so literally, guys,” She said to Herself, secretly hoping that somewhere Her son was listening in and had heard it.

He slithered up beside her, the Woman, Eve.  She was beautiful and new, and God was proudest of her.  Quite a lot of work went into her, more so than the Man, Adam.  Adam had been easy to create, but Eve…oh, Eve was her masterpiece, and She had blessed her with so many yet unawoken miracles, so many possibilities.  Lots of blessings would come to this one.  Lots of pain, too, but, oh would it be worth it.  God smiled to Herself as She admired Her creation.

“Oh, hello,” said Eve, smiling down upon the Serpent at her feet.  “Hello, little friend.  How are we, today?  I don’t think I’ve seen one quite like you before.”

_Neither have I_ , God thought proudly.  _Never seen one quite like either of you, my beautiful children._

Briefly, She glanced to the second monitor, the one positioned at the Southern end of the Garden.  Adam was picking berries from a vine and talking peacefully to the birds.  God knew he would stay there for quite some time.  He did so enjoy his time alone with the other animals.

But then something caught Her attention.  The Serpent was gone, and in its place stood a man, very similar in form to her pale, red-haired angel.  His hair was shorter now, about shoulder-length, and he was wearing black robes.

“Oh, bugger,” She muttered.  “Eve hasn’t seen clothes yet, you idiots.  She’s not seen a man like that one, either.  He doesn’t look like her or Adam at all.  She won’t understand.”

Over an unseen intercom came the Dark Lord’s voice: _“Just watch, Mother.  This is my part of the plan.  I do hope you’ll like it.”_

“Oh!” She cried, watching as the young demon approached the woman.

Several hours passed, and the demon held the woman in quiet conversation the whole time.  She was enthralled.  He spoke of the various parts of the Garden, answered her questions, asked some of his own.  They spoke of Adam and the animals and the plants.

“You look very funny,” she said after a while, when it seemed they’d run out of discussion topics.

“Well, that’s a bit rude,” he chuckled amicably.

“It’s true,” she said.  “My mate and I are what our Mother calls _humans_.  Humans look like me, and like him.  What are you?”

“Not sure at the moment,” he said thoughtfully.

God smiled sadly, seeing his expression change from one of happiness to one of deep, quiet despair.

“You must be human, too, no?  You’ve got a very similar shape,” said Eve.  “But you look sick, like the animals when they’ve eaten something bad.  You are thin and your skin is quite pale.  Your eyes…they….I’m sorry.  Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” he said.  “But, er, what’s that tree up there?” he asked, pointing up at the tall tree at the center of the Garden, under which they were sat.

“You know,” she said slowly, “I do not know for certain.  I’ve never paid it much mind.  Our Mother told us not to touch it.”

“Certainly there’s nothing wrong with touching a tree,” he said.  “And that doesn’t look like a bad one.”

“Bad?” she asked, her brow furrowing.

“Yes, bad,” he said.  “As in, not good.  Not of God.  Certainly, if your Mother made that tree, and She also made you and all the other beautiful things in this Garden, certainly that one tree cannot be terribly bad.”

“We are not to touch it,” she said.  “So it must be… _bad_.”

“It can’t be,” he said softly, shaking his head.  “Look at you.  Are you bad?”

“No, I…I don’t think so,” said Eve.  “My Mother is good and She made me, and She loves me.”

“Then how can that tree be bad?” he asked.  “And what of the fruit it produces?  Is that also bad?  It seems to me,” he said slowly, glancing up at the tree, “that tree is just doing its job.  It’s just being a tree.  Just like you.  You’re just doing your job, being a human.  Not really good or bad, either of you.”

“What, me and the tree?” Eve laughed.

“Yeah, you and the tree,” he said.

“You are very strange,” she said.  “You have very strange ideas.”

He sighed.  “So I’ve been told.”

God was starting to wonder just how long this temptation was going to take.  The way She had initially thought it up, Her son, Lucifer, the wily, deceitful Serpent, would enter the Garden and suggest to Eve to eat from the tree.  She didn’t account for the time it would take for conversation.  Impatiently, She crossed and uncrossed Her legs.  She wanted it to be over already.  She wanted Adam and Eve out of the Garden.  She wanted—

_“Patience, Mother dearest,”_ her son’s voice said in a slow, sing-song voice.

“How much longer?” She asked, looking away from the monitors briefly, up at the ceiling.

_“Ah-ah-ah, keep watching.”_

She sighed heavily and returned her attention to the monitors.

Adam was now digging for roots, still in the same geographic area he’d been in before.  A dog had joined him.  Oh, how She loved dogs, and oh how humans would come to love them, too, not just this Adam, but many Adams to come.

Under the tree, Eve and Crawly were still talking, standing a bit closer to one another than before.  A sign of trust, She thought with a smile.  Good.  That should move things along nicely.

“I dunno about you,” said Crawly, “but I’m going to eat the fruit.  Just to show you it’s safe.”

“No!” she cried, watching with frantic horror as he started to climb the tree.  “She said that if we eat the fruit, we will surely die!”

“Eh,” he said, plucking an apple, “I don’t know about that.  I think…it’ll just make you smarter.  Show you what I see—what _She_ sees.  Good and bad and suchlike.”

He dropped down again to his feet, right in front of her, holding the apple between their faces.

“Please don’t,” she said.  “I don’t want you to.”

“That’s the thing,” he said with a grin.  “I don’t often do what others want me to.  I’m too damn curious.”

He took a bite and smiled at her as he chewed, and she looked on in horror.

“Not bad,” he said, swallowing it.  “Here, you try it.”

“I don’t think…”

“Come on,” he said.  “I’m still here.  I feel no different.”

“Oh, alright,” she said, and took it from him carefully.  “But if something happens to me, I don’t know what my mate will think, or what our Mother will do to you.”

“Hmm,” he intoned, watching her as she took a bite.

Her eyes widened and she handed it back to him.

“You don’t like it?”

“No, it’s… _oh, God_ ,” she moaned as though in pain.

“Are you alright?” he asked, dropping the half-eaten apple to the ground and reaching out to her.

“I’m fine,” she said.  “I’m just…very…oh, I don’t know this feeling.”

Tears started to well up in her eyes and she clutched her head.

“Pain,” he whispered, “I think is the word.  It’s alright.  It’ll pass.”

“No,” she said, closing her eyes as she fell to the ground, her knees at her chest.  “I can’t take this.  Why did you make me eat it?”

“I’m sorry, I—”

Her eyes opened then, and she looked down at herself.  “Oh, no.”

“What?”

“I’m…I’m naked,” she said.  “Please don’t look at me.  _Please just_ …”

“Love, I’ve been looking at you all day,” he said.  “It doesn’t bother me.”

“I have to go now,” she said, standing suddenly and almost falling.

He caught her.  “It’s alright.  You don’t have to go.  You can stay here with me.  I’ll watch over you until the feeling passes, and everything will be okay.  You’ll see.”

It was interesting to see a demon comforting a human.  God had never thought She would see the like.  But Crawly was different.  He had been made for this sort of thing, and apparently, through all Hell’s twisting and tormenting, that couldn’t be torn from him.

“Oh,” Eve said quietly, looking at him now with a new expression.  Her hands, which had been gripping the front of his robes tightly since her near fall, were now loosening, detaching themselves from his robes, and coming up to touch his face.

“What?” Crawly asked, taking a half-step back once she had been steadied.

Eve let out a heavy breath as she studied his face.  There was something in her eyes that shouldn’t have been.

God bit Her lip.  This was new.  This shouldn’t exist yet.  Not in this place.  Not between these two beings.

Crawly’s expression mirrored Eve’s, but he did nothing, only stood there until for some strange reason, a previously dormant human instinct kicked in, and she kissed him.

“Oh, no!” God cried.  “No, no, no!  Lucifer!  What is this?  What am I seeing?”

_“Oh, Mother,”_ her son’s voice said.  _“You didn’t honestly think I wouldn’t alter the plan, just slightly?”_

“ _She_ cannot lay with _him_!” She cried.

_“What?  Does it interfere too much with your Ineffable Plan?”_

“Fuck this!” She shouted.  “Fuck the Ineffable Plan!  Fuck the Great Plan!”

She raised a hand and the monitors flicked off.  Dark laughter filled the room, and the single end monitor came back on to show the woman and the demon, their bodies nearly hidden in the high grass, but just visible enough to know what he was doing to her, what they were doing to each other.

“This is not alright,” she said.  “This was not part of our deal.”

_“But it does not deviate from our deal.”_

“It—”

_“He got her to eat the fruit.  After they’ve finished, he will leave the Garden and she will take the fruit to her mate.  His eyes will be opened, too, in time, Mother.”_

“This isn’t what was supposed to happen!”

_“You made your changes, I’ve made mine.  Deal. With it.”_

“But he…” She started to say, but cut herself short.

The monitor facing the Eastern Gate flicked on, and atop the wall, another pale figure stood, flaming sword in hand, facing outward, oblivious to what was happening down below within the Garden gates.  She looked at the screen, mouth agape.

_“Don’t think I didn’t know, Mother,”_ he said.

“Who else…”

_“No one.  I assure you.  And no one will ever know.  It’s not going to happen.”_

“Finish it.”

_“What?”_

“Her Fall.”

_“And the man?  What of him?”_

“Him, too.”

_“Alright.”_

Abruptly, and rather vulgarly, the scene on the monitor ended.  Crawly and Eve lay in a crumpled heap, breathing heavily, laughing even.  It was meant to be a beautiful experience.  She hoped it was, for their sake, because things were about to get very ugly.

She flicked off the monitor once more, but left the one facing the Eastern Wall on.

_“Mother, this may take a while, you know.”_

“I’ve got the time.”

There was a heavy sigh.  _“Alright.”_

“And one more thing,” She said.

A sigh.  _“Yes, Mother?”_

“Nothing comes of… _that_.”

_“Of course not.  Just the first bit of sin, nothing more.  You have my word.”_

He hadn’t been lying when he said it may take a while.  Hours, days, weeks, it felt, passed.  And all the while, She sat there, watching the angel at the Eastern Gate as he stared out into the desert, fiddled with his robes, checked for chinks in the wall, and paced.  It was rather boring.  She wondered, briefly, whose idea it was to place this one at the gate.  He was too fidgety, and so dreadfully inattentive she thought he’d serve Heaven much better in a library or someplace in records than as a guard.

After a while, the Southern monitor lit up once more.  She saw Adam take the first bite of the apple.  She saw him become distraught, just as Eve had done.  She saw them try to hide their bodies out of shame.

Soon enough, they fashioned clothes for themselves with leaves and vines.  She knew She should have gone down to speak with them, to help them.  But She didn’t.  She couldn’t, couldn’t bring Herself to.  So She just sat, and She watched as they tried to adjust to this new life of sadness and pain and joy and elation.  In truth, She wept many times for them and with them, without their knowledge.  Without anyone’s knowledge.  Her creation was persevering despite it all, and She saw that it was good.

There were times when She wished She could have gone down to them.  She wanted to comfort Adam after his first bee sting, and after the first time the fire burned him.  She wanted to help Eve understand the pain and the blood that came within the first month, and to explain that it would come again.  And then, a few weeks later, after Eve had shared her bed with Adam and it _didn’t_ come again and she became ill, God wished She could have gone down to tell Eve what her body was doing, that it was creating a child for her and for Adam.  But through it all, She couldn’t bring Herself to leave that room.

One morning, though, She saw Her son walk into the Garden, straight through the Western Gate.  Crawly was with him, She noticed, along with the two Dukes She had met on her first visit to Hell.  This was all part of the plan, too, She reminded Herself.  They were finally there to finish it.  Man would fall, and Woman, too, and the Garden would be sealed off forever.

As the four of them walked through the Garden, everything they touched changed.  The sky darkened.  The ground began to shake.  Trees bent in the wind.  Berries became poisonous.  Animals became wild.

Oddly, though, She noticed, Crawly didn’t seem to be doing much but following them, only touching things sporadically, after Hastur or Ligur had touched them, and oftentimes, when he thought no one was looking, fixing them rather than destroying them further.  She smiled to see such goodness in him still.

Adam and Eve fled for the Eastern Gate, just as planned.  And just as planned—though the angel there was not aware of this part of the plan—and they asked for his help.  Nervously, he let them through, peering anxiously through the hole they had come out through to make sure they weren’t followed.

“Thank you,” said Adam.  “I—”

“Don’t thank me,” said the angel, extending his flaming sword toward them.

God gasped, drawing Her feet up into the chair with Her and covering Her mouth with Her hand.  This…was not part of the plan.  This was new.  This was unexpected.

Adam took the sword, speechless.

“Please just…leave before anything bad happens,” said the angel.  “Don’t let the sun go down on you here.”

“But—” Eve started to say.

“ _Go!  Please!_ ” the angel cried, and finally, they listened, running as fast as their legs could carry them.

The angel went up to the top of the wall and watched, not daring to intervene further.  Down in the Garden, the four inhabitants of Hell finished their job.  Hastur, Ligur, and Her son exited through the Eastern Gate, and a lion bounded out after them.  Crawly, however was nowhere to be seen.  Maybe he had already gone home, She thought.  Or maybe he was still inside the Garden.

Then, just as She was giving up hope of seeing him again, a black snake’s head came over the edge of the wall, followed by its body, and went to sit beside the angel before slowly raising up and metamorphosing into the shape of a red-haired man in black robes.

“That went down like a lead balloon,” said the man-shaped demon.

To which the man-shaped angel replied, “I’m sorry, what was that?”

And in Heaven, in Her quiet back room, one more monitor lit up, but God wasn’t looking at it.  She was only looking at one monitor now, and on it, the angel lifted his wing to shield the demon from the first rains.


	4. Divine Interventions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Crowley and Aziraphale meet throughout history, God and Satan (and Gabriel and Beelzebub) also meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter features a brief description of 19th century drug use.

“Why did he even send him in the first place?  Why not you or Dagon, or even a Duke?  Someone more _important_?  I can understand Lucifer not wanting to go himself, but you’d have thought he’d have picked a more qualified representative.”

Beelzebub uncrossed their legs and then recrossed them the opposite direction.  “Not sure exactly.  Orderzzs from…” they paused, waving a hand vaguely, then continuing, “higher-up.  You know how it izzs.”

“Okay,” said Gabriel, turning the cup in his hands absentmindedly with no intention of drinking what was inside it.  “But he’s _nobody_.  Why is he always the one they send?”

“How should I know?” Beelzebub spat.  It was taking most of their energy to keep up a “normal” human appearance right now, let alone deal with questions they didn’t understand from someone they’d rather not be seen with.  “He izzs who the boss alwayzzs sendzzs.  The demon Crawly izzs a nobody.  I agree.  I know that better than anyone.  I trained the bastard.  But he izzs the one who they send regardless.  I’m not suppozzsed to quezzstion.”  They glanced at the archangel seated beside them.  “And neither are you.”

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” he said with a sly grin.

“Oh, like about our meetingzzs?”  Beelzebub smirked and took a big gulp of their drink before making a face.  Gabriel looked on, disgusted and seemingly concerned.

“Why are you drinking that?  You can’t possibly like it,” he said softly after a moment.

“It’zzs not bad really,” they said, looking down at the swirling, opaque red liquid in the cup.  “Just…not good.  Anyway, keeping up appearancezzs.”  They willed the taste out of their mouth before continuing: “I don’t even know how it izzs he’zzs with uzzs, with Hell I mean, if I’m honezzst with you—don’t tell ‘em I’m being honezzst now.”  Gabriel nodded politely and Beelzebub went on.  “He wazzsn’t part of the war.  Should be with your lot.”

Gabriel sighed.  “I…”

“Oh, you did it, did you?” they said, sitting up straighter, eyes alight.

“I did,” he said in a hushed tone.

“Really?  However did you manage that?”

“Well, if you must know, I chocked it all up to his asking too many questions,” he explained.  “Made sure to mention I saw him talking to Dagon once or twice—she was big in the rebellion, I remember.”

“Right,” they nodded.

“And,” he said, “he was out.  With the rest.  Didn’t even get a full trial.”

“Wow…pretty harsh, for an angel.”

“Archangel,” he corrected.

“Right.”

A fly buzzed between them, and Gabriel willed it away wordlessly.

“I, er, oh,” Beelzebub sputtered, noticing this.  “Thankzzs.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, letting out a sigh as he looked over both shoulders at the crowd that had assembled behind them to watch the procession of All Creatures Great and Small headed up to the ark.  “Aziraphale will be here soon.  I should get going before he notices me here.”

“Right,” they said, dumping their drink in the sand and tossing the cup behind them.  _Please litter_ , as the sign by their office door read.  “The demon Crawly will be arriving any minute azzs well.  Szee you later then?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Gabriel said with a smile, and then he was gone.

Beelzebub frowned, and without bothering to make sure no one was looking, willed themself and the bench they’d been seated on away.

* * *

 

On that same still afternoon, after years of waiting, years of watching, and several meetings and half an intervention later, finally, on what was to be the last day before the new beginning, She saw them.  Almost completely missed it, too, but there they were.  Aziraphale, the guard of the Eastern Gate, and Crawly, the wily Serpent.  Aziraphale hadn’t caught sight of him yet, but he would, She was certain of it.

No specific instructions were given.  No “Tell Him to Find The Angel Aziraphale,” no “Have Him Speak to Him.”  She just asked for Crawly to be placed in the same region Aziraphale had been left to wander, and somehow She knew they’d find each other.  They always would.  It was something in the way they were made.  Something even She couldn’t fully explain.

It was Crawly who spotted Aziraphale first, and he made his way quicker through the crowd.

 _“Mother, should I intervene?”_ Satan’s voice on the intercom asked.  _“He’s getting quite close to your agent.”_

“Let him,” She said.

There was a long silence, and then, _“Right.  Almost forgot.  Very well then.”_

“Why’s he dressed like that?” She asked.

A sigh.  _“He likes it.”_

“Hmm,” She intoned.  “It suits him.  And I like the hair.”

 _“The women like it, too,”_ he said, clearing his throat.  _“And the men.”_

She laughed.

_“Didn’t I read something about a commandment against it?  Something you’ll order later?”_

“Against what?”

_“Men lying with men.”_

He almost sounded pleased with himself, or with Crawly, as though there was some dirty, wonderful little secret he was just dying not to keep.  She rolled Her eyes.

“Hmm…not one of mine,” She said with a shrug.

“You can’t kill kids!” She heard a voice say, and She looked again at the screen.

Crawly was quite upset, and She couldn’t say She didn’t understand why.  It was a very shameful thing to do.  She knew that.  It was horrible, and to hear it from him only made it more painful.

Aziraphale said little to nothing, but his face reflected a very similar pain.  He knew it was wrong.  He was only too scared to say so, too scared to question the will of God aloud.

She looked away, and the screen went black.

_“Don’t you want to see what happens next?”_

“No,” She said sharply.

_“It is your work, Mother.  You should see it through.”_

The screen flashed back on, and She looked up.  The rain was starting to fall.  Crawly huddled close to Aziraphale, but this time there were no wings to keep them dry, only two sad figures standing among the crowd in the falling rain.

“Where will you go?” Aziraphale asked after a long silence.

“I dunno,” said Crawly.  “Hadn’t really thought about it.  Suppose I’ll stay here.”

“You’ll be discorporated,” said Aziraphale.

“I can’t let them stay out here all alone,” Crawly whispered, shaking his head, his eyes wide, almost panicked.

“They’re not alone.  They have each other.  There are thousands of them,” Aziraphale reasoned.

“Do you feel nothing?  Do you feel no guilt for what’s about to happen?”

“Of course I do, but,” Aziraphale stopped himself.

“But what?”

“But I can’t disobey,” said Aziraphale.

“Well I can,” said Crawly, “and I will if I have to.”

“Can you, though?”

“Can I?  What’s stopping me?  I’m as low as someone like us can get.  What will they do to me?  Throw me in prison?  I’ve already endured that.  I can endure it again.”

“Someone like us?” said Aziraphale with a small laugh, looking him over.  “Please.”

God sat up taller in Her seat.

“Yes, someone like us,” said Crawly.  “We’re…at least biologically the same, I suppose, you and me.  If that’s the right term.  We’re of the same stock.”

“You fell.  You’re twisted and mangled beyond recognition.  The fact that you would even think to compare—”

“Oh, give that a rest,” said Crawly.  “The fact is I’m staying.  If I can’t save them, I can at least die with them.”

“I suppose,” said Aziraphale slowly, looking around.  “It wouldn’t be disobeying if I stayed, too.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow.

“I mean, to express my sympathy, stay with them until…”

“You think you could?”

“It would be wrong to save them,” he said.  “But not to stay with them until the end.  You’re right.”

Crawly smiled.  “Oh, do say that last bit again.”

“Shut up,” Aziraphale muttered, looking at a group of children who were splashing in a puddle that was already nearly as far across as he was tall and about ankle deep.

“Funny thing, really, saving people being the wrong thing to do,” said Crawly.  “Especially when the ones we’d have been saving never had the chance to do anything wrong.”

“Let’s not talk about it,” said Aziraphale.  He put on a smile, and looked sadly at Crawly before making his way to where the children were playing.  “Alright!  Let’s see who can make the biggest splash.”

Crawly followed him.

God laughed, not a happy laugh or an amused laugh, but a sad, sort of proud laugh.

_“What should I do?  Should I send someone to fetch him?  What are you going to do?”_

“Let them stay,” She said.  “I’ll…put in a minor bit of divine intervention in the opposite direction and keep the two of them safe.  I mean, unless you want me to keep my hands off Crawly.  I can let you deal with him if you like.”

He cleared his throat.  _“No.  I think I can let this one go.  He’s not doing anything right by being there.  In fact, I’d say what he’s doing is positively evil.  He’s giving them a rather painful false sense of security.”_

Her face fell, and She looked up.  “What?”

 _“He’s playing games with them,”_ he said.

On the screen, Crawly was running, chased by several small children.  He fell, and they all tackled him, piling on top of him and squealing wildly.

God smiled sadly.

_“He’s letting them believe this is just like any other day, that the rain is just a part of their fun.  I mean, how do you reason with it?  What do you call what your agent is doing?”_

“He’s not letting them fall to sorrow,” She said, though the more She thought about it, the harder it was for Her to believe that was what was happening.  “He’s giving them something to smile about.”

_“Hmm.”_

* * *

 

This is how it always was.  She made sure of it.  She would look into Aziraphale’s orders, decide how important they were, what kinds of decisions were to be made, what miracles were to be performed, and She would pay a visit to Her son, especially if it was something She would rather not be done.  Gabriel and his cronies certainly did have some interesting ideas of what it meant to intervene, what it meant to perform a miracle.  There was no changing their minds certainly, but She could make sure something got in Aziraphale’s way before he made his uncalculated mistake, and if he got distracted on the way…well, that would be all the better.

Unfortunately, as soon as Crowley found Aziraphale, every time, Aziraphale would find some reason to slip away after a few days.  They’d have a few conversations, share a meal or a drink, go for a walk, and drift apart, on to the next mission, much to Her dismay.

“Have you ever considered suggesting a permanent residence?” She asked one late evening, in Hell, sipping something pale and silvery from a tall, white coffee mug as She watched Crowley enter through the side door of a dingy little nineteenth century East End building.

“He wanders here and there.  I doubt we could tie him down somewhere for long.”

“You could make him feel like it’s his decision,” She said.

“Are you suggesting deception, Mother?”  He smiled at Her over the edge of his own cup.

She chuckled.  “Such a dirty word, _deception_.  I just mean, my agent, Aziraphale, he’s set up a shop.”

“Are you suggesting I ask Crawly to _set up a shop_?” he asked in a mocking tone.  “What sort do you have in mind?  One like the one he’s just gone into?”

“ _Crowley_.  And no,” She sighed.  “Not at all.  Just…maybe we could keep them both in London a while.”

“How convenient,” he said.  “What’s in London?”

“Nothing important,” She said.  “Could keep them in India for all I care.  Even America, or Ireland.”

“He’s not allowed in Ireland anymore,” he reminded Her.

“Oh.  Right.  Almost forgot,” She said.  “Either way, the place isn’t important.  I only suggested London because that’s where Aziraphale is for the moment.  He’s very happy there.”

“Yes, he fits in quite well with the group he’s selected,” he snorted.

A second monitor flashed to life, and on it, Aziraphale could be seen, grinning wide, dancing with a room full of well-dressed men.

“Oh, he does enjoy a good gavotte,” She said, smiling as She watched him.

“Is that what they’re calling it these days?” he asked.

“Oh, do try to keep your mind out of the gutters.”

“You’ve seen how I live,” he said, gesturing vaguely.  “My world is the gutters.”

She looked around at the complete and utter filth of his office.  “Yes.  You’ve let it become quite the pigsty.”

“Hm,” he intoned, taking a sip of his drink.  “Oh, look at that.”

He pointed at the first screen, at Crowley, who was lying on the floor, using his coat as a pillow as he raised a long, thin black pipe to his lips.

“What is that?” She asked.

“Hastur tells me it’s some kind of depressant,” he said.  “Just what that one needs, eh?”

“I’m not sure that’s exactly what that means,” She said.  “Still, I can’t say I approve.”

“Mostly it makes him sleep,” Lucifer said, checking his watch, then the Earth calendars he had on his desk.  “Which he’s been doing for the past two decades.  I certainly hope he doesn’t make too much of a habit of that.”

“I didn’t know they could sleep.”

He closed the calendar roughly and pushed it to the edge of the desk.  “Neither did I, but after their last meeting, he’s been doing it quite a lot.  It really slows down business, if it’s not too bold for me to say.”

“Yes,” She said, clearing Her throat.  “I’m not very pleased with that.  Aziraphale did overreact a bit.  He gets nervous so easily.”

“No worry,” he said, “he’s doing Crowley’s job for him.”

He gestured toward the second screen, on which Aziraphale was walking out to a covered carriage arm in arm with a tall, handsome man in a gray overcoat.  On the first screen, Crowley’s head fell back, his eyes shut, and he passed the pipe to the man sitting beside him before allowing unconsciousness to take him.

The screens went blank.  Lucifer looked to Her, uncertain of what She was about to do next after shutting his security monitors off.

“I’m sorry,” God said, standing.  With a wave of Her free hand, the coffee mug in the other disappeared.  “I really must be going.  Thank you for having me, and for watching with me for a while.”

“Leaving so soon?”

“I can’t watch this.  I’m sorry.  Aziraphale is having a lot of fun, and I’m glad he’s enjoying his time on Earth, but I can’t watch as you allow your agent to destroy the body which, I’ll remind you, _I_ gave him.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” he said.  “I’ll see you around then.”

“Sure.”

And She was gone.

* * *

 

In the West End, several decades later, Gabriel and Beelzebub appeared side by side on a bus stop bench, watching as Aziraphale made his way into the church across the street.  A low candlelight glowed from the windows and shadows danced on the walls as he made his way to greet the men inside.  Outside the door, a young woman touched up her makeup, looking in the small compact mirror in her gloved hand.

“Nazizzs?  Really?” asked Beelzebub, straightening the hat on their head for the fifteenth time since appearing.  Human clothing was not their forte, especially human hats.  A big waste of time, really, the hats.  They were ugly and did little to nothing to improve the appearance of a human head.

“Yeah,” said Gabriel.  He leaned in to adjust it for them.  “There,” he said with a small smile.

“Er, thankzzs,” they said, and didn’t touch it again.

“Anyway, it’s not like he’s actually working for them.  He’s spying against them, working to defeat them, like those humans on television,” he said.

“Hmm,” they intoned.  “You think he can?”

“I dunno,” Gabriel sighed.  “What do you think?  From what I’ve heard, your side knows better than any of my people do.”

“I dunno,” they said, glancing at him.  “Trading a bag of bookzzs, killing two spies.  Doesn’t seem like much.  Certainly not enough to win anyone the war.  Fairly pointlezzss, if you ask me.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel chuckled.  “Like most of his ideas, if you ask me.”

“You know,” Beelzebub started to say, “if you weren’t… _with them_ , I think you and I might make quite the—”

“Oh, my God,” Gabriel groaned, cutting them short.

“What?” they asked.  “I was just going to say that maybe—”

“Sorry, no, I don’t mean that,” Gabriel said apologetically.  “It’s just that.”  He pointed.  “What’s he doing here?” he asked.

Beelzebub followed his finger to a tall, thin figure in a black suit approaching, his hands in his pockets and his hat angled low over a pair of dark sunglasses.  Their mouth fell open.

“Oh, Satan save us all,” they said in a loud whisper.  “I don’t know.  I didn’t know he wazzs meant to be here.”

“Should we do something?  Stop him?”

The young woman by the door outside went in.

“Stop her?” he added, looking at Beelzebub, who was now becoming almost frantic.

“No, that wouldn’t do much good,” they said.  “We shouldn’t be here.  Bugger.  _He_ shouldn’t be here!”

“Do you think they know?” asked Gabriel.

“Know what?” Beelzebub asked, eyes wide.

“About, you know, each other.”

“Oh.  I…I couldn’t tell you if I knew.  Er, maybe.  Maybe not.  The demon Crowley hazzsn’t said anything about knowing the other agent or hizzs motivezzs.”

“Right,” Gabriel nodded.  “So what do we do?”  He stared across at the churchyard and the demon which was now walking across it in a way that looked almost like a jumpy sort of jazz dance.  “I guess let’s just wait.  See what happens.”

“Right.”

Crowley went inside.  They sat in silence, watching with equally horrified expressions on their faces as they waited for the result.  Suddenly there was a soft whistling overhead.

“Oh, shit,” Beelzebub said, their eyes going up to see a bomb which had come from what appeared to be nothing, now falling toward the church.  “Oh, bugger.  I…I apologize, but I muzzst go.  Goodbye, Gabriel.”

And they were gone.

“Right,” he said.  “See ya, Beez.”

In an instant, the space where they had been sat was gone.  There was barely even the memory of a bench.  Across the street, or rather across where the street should have been, the angel and the demon stood among the rubble, saved by some miracle or other.

Gabriel appeared at God’s side in that same moment, his hands shaking as he prepared to inform Her of the death of Her only field agent.

“Lord, I,” he murmured, and She looked up at him over Her shoulder.

“Yes?”

Over Her shoulder, he saw Aziraphale and the demon Crowley standing in the debris from the fallen church.

“I thought…I should report that the angel Aziraphale…but I…uh….”

“Yes,” She said, equally surprised, but more pleased.  “I know.”

“I, uh, I don’t know what happened,” he said.  “Did you do that?”

“No,” She admitted.

“Aziraphale must have,” he said, shaking his head.

“Yes, I’m sure.  But how did you know, Gabriel?”

On the screen, Crowley passed the case of books to Aziraphale, and stepped out of the shot.  An indescribable look settled onto Aziraphale’s face, one of gratitude, but it was more than that, too.

The screen flashed off.  Her doing, Gabriel thought vacantly.

“Uh,” he hesitated, looking from God to the blank screen, then back again.  “I guess I just, um, sort of…had a feeling.  I’m sorry.  It was a false alarm.”

“Thank you, Gabriel,” She said.

“Yes, of course, um,” he said, nodding.  “I’ll get back to work then.”

“Very well,” She said, giving him a smile which seemed to say, ever so politely, “Please go now.”

And he did.


	5. Eleven Years to the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Behind the scenes on the night of the baby swap.

_“They’ve given him the baby,”_ a low voice boomed unexpectedly through the surround sound system, making Her jump.

“Hm?” She intoned, looking up from the papers on Her desk.

It had been many years since She had moved out of Heaven and into this modest flat where She now lived alone.  It had been hard in the years after the Flood to face Her children, and Gabriel especially, who fought and killed and made so many drastic decisions in Her name.  She couldn’t stop them once they’d made their decisions.  Well…She could, but She didn’t like to use force the same way they did.  So for years She remained in seclusion in Her office until the noise and the knocking and the questions all became rather too much for Her to deal with.

“Oh, yes,” She said, picking up the remote to lower the volume to a more tolerable level.  “The baby.  You know, under normal circumstances, I feel I should congratulate you for something like this.  But, well…”

_“I know,”_ he said.

“Where are we in the plan again?” She asked, sifting through a stack of papers retrieved from the lowest drawer of Her desk.  “It’s….”

_“Eleven years to the end,”_ he told Her.

“Dreadful business,” She sighed, setting them down again.

_“Did you watch the switch?”_ he asked.

“Uh,” She hesitated, looking over to the television across the room, on which Crowley was lounging on the sofa in the back room of Aziraphale’s bookshop, downing what must have been close to his fifteenth glass of wine (not counting all the whiskey and gin and vodka and whatever else he’d drunk over the last few hours).  She waved Her hand discreetly under the desk, shutting it off.  “I did.  Did you?”

_“No, I had Dagon look in on that one,”_ he said.  _“Much too busy nowadays to keep track of everything, you know.”_

“I know what you mean,” She said.  “I don’t look in too much anymore either.”  Then, with a quiet sort of laugh, She added, “Don’t tell anyone.”

_“I wouldn’t dare,”_ he chuckled.

“Probably should, though, now that he’s been born,” She said.  “Keep an eye on _him_ at least.”

_“Won’t be much to look at at first,”_ he said.  _“Just a baby after all, and children aren’t that big of a thing either, really.”_

“That’s where I think you’re wrong,” She said.  “Well, there and on a lot of other things, too, but mainly there.  Children are extraordinary.”

_“Yes, yes, ‘children are our future,’ and all that.  This one is my future anyway.  I suppose you’re right.  We should look in as much as we can.”_

“Um-hmm,” She intoned, scribbling something in a thick notebook.

_“And also, I suppose, see how Crowley is keeping himself busy in the final hours,”_ he said.  _“But I should guess you’ve been keeping an eye on that.”_

“Oh,” She said.  “Well, there hasn’t, uh, been much to keep up with these last few years.  At least, not since the business with the M25.  I think he’s calmed down quite a bit.  He still works in a temptation or two every now and then, but he’s settling into an almost human existence.  Much like my agent, Aziraphale.”

_“Oh, you know I hate to hear that,”_ he said with a sigh.

“Well, I heard what he did today.  Pretty funny, actually.  Did you hear?”

_“Something with telephones,”_ he said dismissively.  _“Sure, but I don’t see how that’s so big.”_

“It put so many people off schedule, upset even more,” She said.

_“It’s not big, though!  It’s not direct action!”_ he cried.  _“I need to see someone break a commandment, commit a big sin!  What he’s given me is a few cases of bitter grumblings.”_

She smiled, keeping Her head low, face angled downward so that he might not see Her expression if he happened to be looking in as well as listening, though She doubted he was.

_“When was the last time he did anything bigger than a petty theft?”_

“Petty theft hardly describes that incident,” She said, setting her pen down and looking up now.

_“Oh, you’re right,”_ he scoffed.  _“I still don’t know why your lot sent him down here.”_

“Me, either,” She muttered, going back to her notes.

_“Delivering my son, though,”_ he said after a moment, pride practically dripping from his voice.  _“That’s big.  That’s grand.  That’s_ commendable _.”_

“Uh-huh,” She said, not disagreeably.

Admittedly, She had stopped listening.

* * *

 

“Eleven yearzzs then,” said Beelzebub, cutting a glance over toward Gabriel, who was sitting on the edge of the desk, which was, admittedly, the cleanest part of Beelzebub’s office, though not by much.

“Yeah,” he said.  “Eleven years, then the war.  And then we win.  My side, I mean.”

“Who sayzzs?” they asked.

“The prophesies,” he said matter-of-factly.  “In the end, we will win.”

“After what, another _millennium_?” asked Beelzebub with a smirk.

“Hmm,” he intoned, not really an answer.

“We will rule in that time, here on Earth, or the boy will, anyhow,” they went on.  “You will have Heaven, and there will be quite a fight, of that we can be sure.  In the end, you will win, but we will have our time.  And who knowzzs?  It could change in that time, the outcome.”

He laughed quietly, shaking his head, not at what they had said, necessarily.  Or rather, not at the meaning behind their words.  He was amused, instead, by their choice in words.  Over the last few decades, he realized that they had begun to choose their words more carefully around him, omitting S’s or Z’s where they could.  He wasn’t sure if it was intentional, as a way to keep attention off their odd way of speaking, or if over time, it had become a habit.  Keeping up appearances and all that.

“It won’t,” he said.  “But it’s an interesting thought.”

“What do you think will happen once it’zzs all over?” they asked.  “For you and me, I mean.”

“‘You and me’?” he asked, puzzled.  “Us?  What about us?”

“Our…our meetingzzs,” they said.  “Will they come to an end, too?”

“Well, certainly they must,” he said.  “I don’t think we’ll have much opportunity for contact after it’s all over.”

They nodded.  “Well,” they said, “fun while it lazzsted, eh?”

“It’s not over just yet,” he said with a smile.  “What, don’t tell me you’ve grown fond of our meetings?”

“No, of course not,” they spat so quickly the S didn’t linger long enough to have time to convert itself to a Z, and they let out an almost forced-sounding scoff.  “Of…of courzzse not,” they said again.

“Right,” he said, looking down at his watch.  “This time again next week?”

“Yeah,” Beelzebub said with a nod.  “If you like.  If you don’t—”

“See ya, Beez,” he said, smiling just a bit, and then he was gone.

* * *

 

“There,” God said, smiling as She looked down at the notebook in front of Her.

It was all in order, every bit of it.  She had, in fact, been watching the baby switch as She had told Her son.  Close enough, too, to realize that Sister Mary Loquacious had done rather poorly—or rather well, in Her opinion—and got the babies quite mixed up.

The American ambassador’s wife, to whom Her son’s baby was supposed to be given, was now busy cradling what was for all intents and purposes a normal human baby.  Not her own, unfortunately, but he would be in her eyes, and that’s all that mattered.  He was given a strange name, _Warlock Dowling_ , but besides that, his upbringing would be as lovely and normal as it could be, being the son of an American government official growing up in London.

The other human baby was put up for adoption, and if all went according to Her plan—as it almost always did—he would be adopted quite soon by a lovely couple from the Tadfield area and grow up to be quite normal as well.

_And speaking of Tadfield…_

She smiled at the name on the page and stroked a fingertip over it gently.  _Adam_.  She was quite fond of the name, and it was a very fitting one for Her grandson.  And just as She’d planned it, he was being taken home now to Tadfield by Mr. and Mrs. Young of Hogback Lane.  That made Her quite proud indeed.  He would have a lovely, normal upbringing by a lovely, normal couple in a lovely, normal part of the country, away from prying eyes and anyone who might want to influence him from either side.

She waved a hand, bringing the television screen across the room back to life.  On it, She saw Crowley, still seated on the same old sofa, smiling at Aziraphale, who looked very pleased himself.

“Godfathers,” Aziraphale said.  “Well I’ll be damned.”

_So much for the lovely, normal upbringing for young Warlock Dowling…_ She thought.

She picked Her pen up once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there was so little Crowley and Aziraphale in this one. I promise there'll be more in the next chapter!


	6. Like Nothing Ever Happened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God pays a visit to Crowley in baby Warlock's nursery.

A few months later, just as expected, the Dowlings put in advertisements for several service positions: a butler, two maids, and, of course, a nanny.  And Crowley made sure he was their first pick, with a little demonic intervention.  A little while later, a position opened up for a gardener, after Mr. McConnell was suddenly called away to a job elsewhere, and Crowley, er, _Nanny Ashtoreth_ , knew just the man for the job.  References were fabricated, and soon enough, they were both inside the Dowling house with direct daily contact with young Warlock Dowling.

God kept an eye on them from time to time, but as Warlock was still quite small, there wasn’t much to see besides Crowley feeding the baby, changing nappies, or cleaning up messes.  Sometimes he would sing him songs or play a game of peek-a-boo or where’s-the-baby with him.  Those were Her favorite times to look in.

Oddly, though, She noticed, Crowley never touched the baby more than necessary, keeping a safe distance, as though he were afraid of him.  He only picked him up if he cried or if it was time for a changing or a feeding.  Even when he played with him, loving though it was, it was always at a distance.  It was a bit unsettling, especially to Her, to see a being so filled with love for children to be so nervous around this one.  She wanted to tell him it was fine, that this baby couldn’t hurt him, but She couldn’t give anything away.  She couldn’t let him know he had the wrong baby.

One night, though, much later than anyone in the Dowling house should have been awake, She decided to look in.  The nursery was dark except for the little nightlight by the crib.  The baby was fast asleep, and beside it, the nanny sat in a rocking chair.  It looked as though Crowley was close to dozing off, fighting sleep, a book open in his lap—likely borrowed from Aziraphale, likely open to a random page, unread.

She was about to switch the monitor off, but She noticed something which worried Her: a tear running down his cheek.  He wiped it away and sniffled, rubbing his eyes behind his glasses, and he pulled his feet up into the chair and his knees to his chest.  he pulled the end of the nightgown down over his legs and hid his face in his arms.

“Oh, no,” She murmured, and with a snap of Her fingers, She disappeared, reappearing in the corner of the nursery.  “My love,” She said softly.

Crowley jumped to his feet and backed all the way up to the wall.  At the far side of the room, he saw what at first to him appeared to be merely a woman clothed in white smiling at him.  But then, he noticed She seemed to glow faintly, lighting up Her corner of the dimly lit nursery, and he knew who She must have been.  She glanced toward the baby lying in the crib, then to Crowley.

“I’ve never known you to shy away from a child,” She said, starting to walk toward the crib, but stopped when Crowley blocked Her path, jumping between Her and the child, a look of absolute horror on his face as he pressed his back against the bars of the crib.  “What is the matter?” She asked, shaking Her head.

“You can’t have him,” he whispered, his voice shaking.

“I…”  Her smile fell, and She nodded, understanding.  “I’m sorry.  I know how this must look.”

“Why are you here?” he asked.  “You can’t be here.”

“Can’t I?” She asked calmly.

“I’m not allowed visitors after dark,” he said.

“They won’t know I’ve been here.”

“ _Why_ are you here?” he asked again.

“Surely, if I were here to take the child, I’d think you of all people would be glad.  If I took the child, the world wouldn’t end.  You could continue on with your life with nothing to worry about, like nothing ever happened.”

“I…” he trailed off.  He had considered that certainly, but he could never do that.  Not when there was a chance of influencing the child just enough to make him choose a different path.  He didn’t have to be… _taken_.

“No, that’s not what I’m here for,” She said.  “I’m here to see you.  Though I wouldn’t mind seeing this little guy, too.”

She craned Her neck to look past Crowley at the peacefully sleeping baby in the crib, nestled in his little red blanket.  Crowley remained firmly in place, refusing to let his guard down, though his expression softened some.

“He’s beautiful,” She said.

“Why do you want to see me?”

“You know,” She said, seemingly ignoring his question, “it’s amazing.”

“What is?”

“That you would be willing to stand in the way of an almighty, all-powerful God to protect a child you’re terrified of,” She mused.  “It’s truly astonishing.”  She took a step past him and went to lounge in his rocking chair.  “Of course, had I discorporated you or even merely overpowered you, you could always have reported that you were protecting the Antichrist for the greater bad, or whatever it is you tell them.  But I think it’s more than that.”

He stared at Her with what he hoped was a blank expression.

“You’re so good, Crowley,” She said.

“Please don’t say that,” he whispered, frowning.

“You are.”

“No,” he shook his head.  “Not anymore.”

She smiled sadly.  “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes,” She said.  “It’s okay.”

“Doesn’t feel okay,” he said with a tired, sad sort of laugh which choked him, becoming a sob an instant later.  He clutched the side of the crib with one hand and closed his eyes.  “I’m sorry.”

“You did nothing wrong, my love,” She said.  “I don’t know why what happened happened.  I wasn’t there, and I’m sorry.  I should have been there.  What happened to you wasn’t your fault.  And ever since then, it looks to me like—”

“No, please,” he said, shaking his head.  “Don’t say it.”

“It looks to me,” She went on, sitting forward, Her elbows on Her knees, “like you’ve not been twisted the way they’d have liked.  You don’t always do good, necessarily, but you don’t do terribly bad, either.”

Warlock stirred behind him, and Crowley turned around ready to pick him up if he started crying, but he merely shifted his position slightly under his blanket and went immediately back to sleep, and Crowley turned around again.

“I know you’ve been hurting,” She said.  “I know you’ve been afraid of everything you know is bound to happen.  I know you’re afraid of what could happen.”

He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes.

“My love, I want you to know you shouldn’t worry,” She said.  “If it isn’t okay now, it will be.”

“You sound like every person I’ve ever talked to about feeling this way,” he said with a bitter laugh.

“Yes, but the difference is _I know_ ,” She said.  “I know the plans I have for you.”

“Quoting scripture?  Doesn’t seem like you, if I remember correctly,” he said.

“I’m not sure what you remember.  I’m not sure what they’ve done to your memories, my love,” She admitted, and she let out a long sigh.  “But you’re right, quoting the scripture isn’t my cup of tea.”  She stood and came closer.  “But I do know what’s in store for you, if you only hold on a little while longer.”

He laughed again, thinking about just how cliché everything She’d said thus far had been.  “Yeah.”

“I’m serious.”

“What am I supposed to do?” he asked, looking again at baby Warlock.

“What you’ve been doing, my love,” She said, placing a hand on Crowley’s shoulder.  “Take care of this child.  Love him.  Give him the best childhood you know how.”  She smiled at him.  “And let him listen to the gardener!”

Crowley laughed, a real, genuine laugh this time.  “You think I should?  Will it make any difference?  Will any of this make any difference?”

“Everything you’re doing will make a difference,” She said, “whether you see it or not.”

Warlock let out a heavy sigh in his sleep and reached his hand out.  Crowley gave him his finger to hold.

“All these years ago—and I’m not even sure if it’s a real memory or not—but I remember you visiting me in prison.”

She nodded but said nothing.

“And you told me something,” he said, looking over at Her again.  “You told me I was ‘not the only one created for…’ whatever it is I’m here for.  Love or something like that.  Is that true?  Or was it just something you told me to give me hope?”

There was a pause, and then She said, “It’s true.”

“Will I ever know who the other poor bastard is?” he asked.

“I think you’ve met him,” She said.

“Have I?  Huh.”

“Yes, I think you have,” She smiled.

“Hmm,” he intoned.  “Whoever he is, I hope he’s doing his job better than I am.”

“You’re doing wonderfully,” She said, rubbing his shoulder gently before disappearing.

He looked down at the baby in the crib.  Maybe She was right.  Maybe he should give the kid a chance, more than the chance he was already giving him.  And maybe he should let him spend a little more time with the gardener as he got older.


	7. In the End

It’s a terrible way to find out, death.  To find out just as it’s too late.  Hell.  Worse than that, really.  Crowley screamed, not caring a lick that all around him, the flames were growing higher, engulfing the whole of the bookshop.  What he cared about was Aziraphale.  That’s what he’d always cared about, but now…now he realized just what She had meant.  He wasn’t the only one.  There was Aziraphale.  There had always been Aziraphale, since the beginning.  That was who She had meant, and now that it was too late, now that Aziraphale was dead, he realized.

In her little office that art not in Heaven, She laid Her head down on the desk, Her eyes squeezed tightly shut.  She couldn’t stand to watch much longer.  It was terrible, what had happened.  Of course, She knew where Aziraphale was, but there was no way She could have told Crowley.  There was only so much bending of the Plan that could happen.  He had to think Aziraphale was dead, or the end result might change drastically.  Still, it hurt to see him like this.

“Get out of there,” She said, looking back up at the screen.  “Just get out or something will happen to you, too.”

And luckily, he did.  She didn’t even have to intervene.  A few moments later, he strode out of the bookshop, the Prophesies in hand, and got back into his car and drove away.

She shut the monitor off and laid Her head back down.

_“Mother.”_

“ _Hmmmf_ ,” She intoned, Her voice muffled against Her arms.

_“Your agent.  He cannot truly be out of the game.  What are you playing at, takin—”_

With a snap of Her fingers, his voice stopped, cut off as the surround sound speakers ceased to exist.  She didn’t need him here right now.  Now, things just needed to run their course, without intervention, divine or otherwise.  That was the beauty of the Plan, letting things run their course, letting everyone make decisions, work things out for themselves.  It always worked out in the end.

* * *

 

It is astonishing how in just a few hours, the mind of one small boy brought the world to ruin, and then built it all up again, in some ways better than before.  It was astonishing, especially, to Her.  It had taken Her rather more than seven days to build Her world up, but Adam had fixed it all back up in just a few hours.  In his sleep, even.  Given, She had built from nothing, but really, if you think about it, building a world from nothing is much easier than rebuilding one from its near-destruction.

She looked on as he slept, quiet, peaceful, a hellhound at his feet in his little bed in Tadfield.  It was astonishing, truly.

“Goodnight, sweet prince,” She said, smiling as he reached for Dog in his sleep, “and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.”

There were good things coming for him.  She was certain of it.  He would remember this day, though maybe not the exact details.  They would fade, no doubt, as he got older.  That was for the best.  But he would remember the day that four children, a small dog, a witch, her tech-ignorant boyfriend, an angel and a demon, an aging witch hunter, and a woman who had been two people saved the world.  Perhaps he’d write books about it.

Just outside and down the driveway, an angel and a demon sat in conversation on a bench, passing a bottle of wine between them.  They’d been here since the beginning, and now they’d seen the end.

“This was the plan all along, then?”

She turned around, and saw him standing behind Her, Her son.

She smiled.  “You know what they say, I work in mysterious ways.”

“Oh, shut up.”

He passed in front of Her and came to sit across from Her at the desk.  She followed him with Her eyes, a frown settling in on Her face.

“It’s not over.”

“I know.”

“It cannot end here.  I cannot let you embarrass me this way—embarrass everyone this way!  Your people, my people.  No one understands what on earth is going on.  We’ve all been—”

“Played for a sucker?” She tried, and laughed.

On the screen, Crowley and Aziraphale boarded the bus together, and settled in side by side at the middle.  Aziraphale reached for Crowley’s hand and took it gently in his own.

“This!” he cried, pointing at the screen.  “This is a joke!”

“Not a very funny one, admittedly.”

“It’s an embarrassment.  It goes against everything we’ve been preparing for.”

“What do you want me to do?  I could reverse time for you if you like.  Maybe we could change a few factors, too.  Not that exactly the same result wouldn’t work itself out in the end.”

“There will be a war.”

“Oh, I’m sure.  Just not this one.  Not now.”

He jumped to his feet, and headed toward the door.  “Listen, it’s not over yet.  I’ve already got another agent talking to one of your men as we speak.  We’ve got something in the works.  I’d keep an eye on your man if I were you.”

“And yours?” She asked, gesturing toward the screen, where Crowley and Aziraphale stood close together in the lift up to Crowley’s flat.

He laughed and stalked out of the room.

* * *

 

In a dank motel room in the depths of Nowhere, America, of all places, an archangel and a Lord of Hell stood, talking grimly in hushed voices.

“You’ve been informed then?” Beelzebub asked quietly, fiddling awkwardly with the knit beanie they had on.

Gabriel reached out to adjust it for them.  “I have.  There will be two trials tomorrow.  One in Heaven, one in Hell.  And then the executions of Aziraphale and Crowley.  Hardly seems fair, but…”

“Didn’t you once tell me you were the one who booted an angel out of Heaven szzimply for being annoying, almozzst completely lacking in evidence?” they asked, smiling feebly in an attempt to lighten his mood.

“Yes, but this…this is death.  This is destruction.  It’s a lot more complete, don’t you think?”

Their expression softened.  “You’re reluctant to go through with it?”

“I don’t know.  It’s what should be done, right?  It’s what… _above_ wants?”

“I should think so.  It’s at least what my master wantzzs.”

“Right,” he nodded.  “Well, that’s that then.”

“That’szz that.”

“I suppose this is it?” he asked, scrutinizing their expression.

“Yeah, probably so.”

He chuckled, and Beelzebub could have sworn it was almost…sad.

“Been fun, eh?” they asked.

“Yeah.  See ya around, then.”

Not _goodbye_.  _See ya_.  That was a lot more hopeful.

“Yeah, see ya.”

They turned and walked to the door, which he held for them before closing it.  And without another word, they walked away in opposite directions.


	8. Beautiful In This Light, or The South Downs

**_ One Year Later _ **

It had been lifetimes since Eden, and even longer since Heaven, but this was closer than anything he’d seen since.  The air was clear, light, and the land was beautiful.  For the first time in more than six thousand years, it was as if a weight had been lifted from Crowley’s shoulders.   Not all the weight.  He knew it would never all be gone; he would never be all alright.

But it was enough.

More than enough, he thought, seeing the way Aziraphale smiled as he carried the box of Wilde first editions up the front steps and turned to look back at him.

“Are you coming, dear?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley nodded, letting his own smile spread to the surface.  He pushed himself off the side of the Bentley and hurried to meet him.

“Yes,” he said.  “Of course.”

_“You look beautiful in this light, you know,”_ he almost thought he heard a voice say, barely a whisper inside his ear; he tried to shake it off, but it came again, saying, _“Let it give you happiness for once.”_

“What’s that?” he asked, stopping in the doorway.

Aziraphale stopped beyond the threshold between the kitchen and the sitting room and turned to face him.  “I didn’t say anything.”

“Right,” he said, and smiled again.  “Where shall we put Oscar then?”

Aziraphale laughed, a beautiful sound echoing through the empty room.

_“I told you, my love: you’re not the only one,”_ the voice said again, just for him to hear, as Crowley took the box and passed the books one by one to Aziraphale to place on the shelf in their bedroom. _“And it might not be alright yet, but it will be okay, my love, and it is so, so good. I tell you that truthfully.”_

“What’s got into you?” Aziraphale asked, noticing the way he looked into the distance, not as though he had the weight of Heaven and Hell and the Earth on his shoulders, but as though suddenly he could think, suddenly he could breathe and stretch and move.

“‘And God saw that it was good,’” Crowley said softly, not exactly a response; Aziraphale doubted he’d even heard him.

“What’s that?” asked Aziraphale.

“Nothing, angel,” he said.  “Just something She said to me.”

“Oh, you’ve spoken with Her?” Aziraphale asked, puzzled.

“All the time.”  He smiled.  “‘And God said, Let there be light: and there was light.  And God saw the light, that it was good: and God divided the light from the darkness.’  I think I finally understand.”

“That’s Genesis,” said Aziraphale, giving him a sidelong glance as he placed another book on the shelf.

“Yeah,” said Crowley.  “The beginning.  This is our beginning.”

“Hardly,” Aziraphale chuckled.

“No, I mean it,” Crowley said.  “It’s so stupid, but I feel like some of the darkness is lifting, ever since we got out of the car.  It’s like the clouds are finally parting, and I can breathe just a little.”  He passed him the last book.  “Like maybe one day it’ll be okay.”

“I hope so,” said Aziraphale, touching his cheek.

Crowley set the box on the end of the unmade bed and took Aziraphale by the hand.  “So do I.”


End file.
